


In the Mountains, There You Feel Free

by amituvia



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Getting Together, Multi, a bit depressing at the begginnig but it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amituvia/pseuds/amituvia
Summary: Francis was only as brave as a situation forced him to be: Twist his hand hard enough, and Francis would succumb to bravery. He was brave in his anger, in his bitterness, in his cups. But in his core, he was a shy man, verging on cowardice, when all James ever was for him is brave, brave, brave.Or: The men come back home, and try to sort out the mess. It's good to have some help.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. every warmth a fire

It takes a while for them to feel saved.

Relief was an alien concept. Dangerous, almost.

When Ross found them, they first needed to grow strong enough to eat, then strong enough to stand, and walk and carry supplies with them. By the time they reached the ship, they were bone tired again, and bones was nearly all they were to begin with. Though their logical mind insisted they could sit down and calm down, shut their eyes at night, actually eat, a bigger part of them was discomforted by the very thought, flinching as their bodies kept mistaking every warmth for a fire.

Francis saw it during meals, all those surviving chewing carefully and quietly around loose teeth, he saw it at night, when his men shifted about in their hammocks, or talked in urgent whispers to one another. Just the other day, Edward was talking to him one second, and tearing up the next, apologizing all the while.

This unrest had been a constant for a while now, but now that he was not in command, he could not place himself in the eye of the storm and find relative peace within it. Anxiety was all around him. He stood in it like a room.

Mercifully, there was also James.

James to convince him to come to all meals, James to easily joke with the men, James to be back to his impeccable self at record time (Francis wants to see the portrait), James to hand Edward a handkerchief as Francis placed a hand on his shoulder and told him not to _dare_ apologize.

Thank god for Jameses: Clark Ross for saving them, and Fitzjames for keeping them saved.

When they finally got home, it took Francis no time at all to locate Sophia in the crowd, with Lady Jane besides her.

Sophia grasped his hand with both of hers. The smooth, almost velvety touch of her thumb along his knuckles forcing his eyes shut. He felt like shivering, or sighing loudly in relief, but he just stood there for a second – a still fragment in a momentarily dark world.

At James' insistence (not that Francis required any convincing) they later rode with the ladies to their home, and sat on the couch with blank, pale faces before the two women, rigid and glum as James spun the tale of Sir John's death as close to the truth as he could.

Lady Jane didn't look at them once, her gaze far away and unfocused. She nodded to herself several times as her eyes grew increasingly red, frowning deeply. Sophia held her hand tightly and did not take her eyes off of Francis until James was done, then turned to the man slowly, asking to speak to him in private.

James blinked at her in surprise. "Of course," He replied uncertainly, carefully standing up, fixing his coat to mask his wince. He casted Francis a short look that was equally puzzled and apologetic, and went limping after Sophia, leaving him behind with the silent Lady Jane.

When he came back out, he had a look on his face that turned Francis defensive instantly. "What did she say to you?"

"Nothing." He replied after a moment. "Just. Asked me a bit about Sir John. Asked me if I would be available to talk privately about everything, without, as she said, softenning things. She asked us both to come, if you're willing."

"Oh," Sophia never had much patience to anything she might have considered deception, and was blunt about things more than any lady he ever met. That's how things started between them. That's how they ended as well. "Of course." He said, trying not mind how she apparently felt more comfortable asking him through James. "Whenever she wants."

Unfortunately, Francis didn’t get to stay enough for much of anything: Two brothers have died in his absents, one of which was living further down south, bookkeeping for a gentleman farmer. From the date of it, probably just around the time the news of his survival reached home. There was an irony there Francis didn't care to explore.

On the night of his departure, he watched James as the severe shadows of the room painted him with a stark contrast. He held onto Francis' shoulders fiercely land said "You come back to me. You come back as soon as you can, you hear?" And as soon as Francis nodded, he leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, his soft hair brushing them both.

They went to bed together after that. James held him from behind the entire time, one hand laid on his torso and one gently brushing through his hair. A first time in many yearsfor him, a first probably for James as well. He doubted the man slept much that night, likely thinking " _Finally_ ," but at the same time " _Too soon_ ," same as he.


	2. a lengthy prologue

Coming back home felt like waking from one nightmare only to fall right back into another one. The north was not hit as hard by the famine, and his remaining family was relatively safe, but the news of it every day, the stories from his sisters, of starvation and disease and despair, starting since the year they set sail and only now subsiding – that was all too familiar.

Despite everything, it was good to see his sisters in the flesh after so long. He never felt like he wrote them as much as he should, especially considering how his childhood would have been intolerable without them. They stuffed him as if there was any danger of him perishing from hunger, and generally fussed about him in a way that he found as irritating as he did amusing.

His brother Thomas also came from Dublin to see him, and while obviously distraught about being the eldest and yet over lasting others, was as pleasant a man as ever, talking to Francis of his own family and business at length, asking about Francis' latest travels once, and then never again.

James wrote him frequently and at length, often sending two completely different letters in one fat envelope. One of the would begin with ' _Dear Francis, Today I met Thomas Jopson. I am Glad to inform you the lad is in good health and back to his amusing self. He has family in the city, and will be rooming with two of the other lieutenants not too far away from us_.' And the other with ' _Dear Francis, it is starting to grow warm again. They days are longer now, and the rain had been mercifully gentle. I've seen a Jay on my walk around town today. Do you remember the blue line of feathers on their wings? A simple line, modest as a lady's bow, and yet the sight of such a bright natural colour shook something in me_.' All of them ended with ' _With love, James._ '

If Francis was a sentimental man (and if he was that's his own business) he would have traced that final line with his fingers, would have wished for more scribbles at the bottom of each page, would close his eyes and imagine James' delighted face before a squawking jay.

It goes on for two months, receiving ' _Dear Francis_ ', and sending yearning, impatient ' _Dearest James_ '. He felt like a child, writing poetry of love and misery that for the sake of his dignity should be hidden or burnt – yet in every new letter James was charming and shameless, and he couldn't help but follow suit. Sprinkling lines of his warm eyes, his dark curls, his elegant hands. Barely restraining himself from writing things he intended to only ever say to the man out loud.

James tried to always be in the company of either friends or family. No longer feeling up for the dim of a crowd but unsettled by being alone, he'd seek out familiar faces whenever given the chance. He frequently visited Le Vesconte, and thus also meet Edward and Jopson, and was delighted when his brother showed with his family to the house which he gave them so charitably, not long after Francis left. ( _'He had tears in his eyes when he saw me_ ,' Wrote James. _'I do not know how I did not cry myself, even if just for the prospect of causing him such sorrow._ ')

He also mentioned Sophia several times now, praising the lady's wit and humor. Apparently they found a sort of solace in each other amidst everything. A quiet comfort that can sometimes be achieved when two people have both enough closeness and distance to each's sorrows to emphasize with one another, without waking too many dormant pains.

" _She's lonely_." Realized Francis, surprised it never fully registered for him before. He must have seen it at some point. Yet another reflection of himself. Lonely even if not alone. Looked at but never thoroughly inspected, and so, effectively, unknown. He remembers in the early days, catching her eyes in a crowded room, thinking " _I see you. I see you. Do you see me?_ " And she'd smile back so softly, reeling him further in.

She is three-and-thirty now. Unmarried still. Perhaps she had decided that is not for her. But a lack of need for a husband does not rid people of the need for company. For companionship. Francis hoped to never be the kind of man who would resent a woman for seeking out solace in a dark time, especially if she is there to help James in return, and thus indirectly, but likely intentionally, Francis as well.

" _Let them comfort each other, then. Let these two lonely dear souls sooth and delight one another. And may these chapters of misery be a lengthy prologue for a happier tale._ " He thought, almost a prayer.

After nearly three months, he sailed back to London.


End file.
